Marshmallow Brat
by Nyctra
Summary: Tip gets stuck babysitting for a neighbor and has to keep Oh a secret, but he goes missing! Who will find him first?
1. The Blackberry Bush

hurrhurr Let's try posting a multi-chapter fic before I'm actually done with it for once like _a normal person._

Should be just 3 chapters, but we'll see. I'unno. I write better than I run, but alas, I can still manage to trip and fall. Less on my face, and more on my motivation. And other times I rocket past the finish line by mistake.

I just wanted to see Oh try to crab walk but this happened instead. How. Why. Shame on me for getting distracted and running away with it. lol

 _~Ny_

* * *

 **1\. The Blackberry Bush**

It's a lesson everyone learns: life gets in the way of things. Sometimes it gets in the way of taking out the trash or missing a new episode of that TV show you love. Sometimes it feels like there's just never enough time in the day, and sometimes appointments overlap. Sometimes it means squealing to a halt in front of your neighbor-down-the-road's house with a puffy pink bundle in your arms, a few rushed breathless words, and burning rubber a moment later, with that pink bundle left behind on that neighbor-down-the-road's doorstep.

At a loss, Tip stared down at the pink bundle with a mess of golden locks on top. The pink bundle stared up at her.

Left so abruptly in her care was a tiny petite pasty-skinned blonde preschooler. Her name was Sasha, or maybe Shasta, and she was four years old. _Maybe._ Tip wasn't sure. The tiny kid was bundled thickly in excessive amounts of pink and glittery stars.

Before Tip could gesture her in, there were tears welling up in the preschooler's eyes, and she looked down the road in the direction her father's red pickup truck had zoomed off. A noise stuttered out of her quivering lips and Tip knew if she didn't do something right now, this kid would start bawling like she'd been _completely_ abandoned.

"Do you like cookies?" Tip asked awkwardly, and reached out for Sasha's shoulder. But before she could guide her in, the kid turned and _ran._

Sasha nearly made it to the steps when Tip caught her by her puffy coat and practically _drug_ her back inside out of the chilly spring rain.

The preteen bolted the front door for good measure. It was a heavy old bolt, like a beefy toilet stall latch, for an equally old door. The farmhouse they'd given up their apartment in favor of was an antique by Tip's standards. She couldn't believe that they'd barely unpacked and _already_ she was being used for a babysitter. She must look trustworthy or responsible or something. If only the neighbors knew the Tucci family harbored an ex-criminal alien…

But a subconscious desire to be viewed as _normal_ in their new home had kept her mouth shut about her unusual best friend and kept him hidden like Quasimodo. The silly Boov was too attached to stay at his own place in the city with his Boov roomies, and had followed the Tuccis to their place like a lost puppy and settled in with them. Tip didn't mind. Her mom minded a little, but she'd learn to love the little guy, Tip was certain of it.

Oh knew that whenever there was company, he wasn't to make an appearance until someone signaled him the OK. So far, that time had yet to come. Not everyone liked the Boov after what they'd done, and even though Oh _had_ saved the world in the end, the hillbilly with the shotgun down the road would argue that it was him and his kind that caused all the trouble in the first place, and then spout something about freedom. So to be on the safe side, Oh reluctantly kept a low profile.

Knowing he was sure to be watching like a sneaky purple hawk from the top of the stairwell, Tip brought the little guest to the living room. She wasn't sure what she expected of the kid. If it was take off her coat and kick up her feet, it sure wasn't what she got.

The little girl just stood there like a pink marshmallow in the center of the room. They had another quiet staring contest, and Tip was the first to break eye-contact with a muttered, _"Umm…"_ The little girl moved then, fidgeting her feet and looking towards the TV and shelf of DVD's and VHS's beside it. She didn't have to point a pink-gloved hand to the movies for Tip to know what was on her mind.

"Movie?" Tip said, and felt like she were asking a dog if it wanted a biscuit, and tried to change her tone. "So what kind of movies do you like?" she went on unnaturally. She'd never babysat before. She'd only ever kept to her own age group or older, so she wasn't sure how to interact with this tiny person.

Sasha didn't answer. The kid just went up to the shelf and stood up on her toes to pull out a dusty _The_ _Little Mermaid_ VHS and open it up. It seemed weird for a minute that a kid this young these days would even recognize a VHS, but Tip supposed it might have something to do with practically _no one_ in this rural neighborhood having TV or good internet service due to the ludicrous cost of it. They only had the old tapes because her mom was raised on the stuff.

Pushing the tape in the player, Tip could feel the eyes watching her back. Once she knew it was playing, she crept away to join Oh at the top of the staircase along one wall of the living room. The fourth step from the top creaked, and she wondered for the umpteenth time if it would give way one of these days as she sat down on the sandy-tan shag-carpet steps. She ducked her head to see Sasha on the couch a little better from Oh's usual lookout point.

The Boov's humid breath ruffled her hair and gave her the willies as he stooped closer to see past her. "She is very small," Oh murmured. "And very pink."

"It's a girly thing," Tip explained absently.

 _"Girly?"_ he hissed back, a little bit offended, and then scoffed, "Color hasn't any gender."

"She sure is quiet."

Tip threw a reflexive glance back over her shoulder when froggish fingers curled around it like blunt claws.

Oh's eyes flicked from hers and down to Sasha. "Is there something wrong with that?" he wondered. "All the other humans I have met – they have been noisy. Especially the young ones. And they moved more. Do you think she is sick?"

"No…," said Tip with uncertainty. "She's probably just shy. I mean, her dad just dumped her off at a stranger's house, and she's probably not used to meeting new people, so…" She shrugged. "I'unno. Her dad gave me twenty bucks to watch her, though, so I should get back down there…"

Oh's hand tightened on her shoulder, and he gave her a sad bug-eyed look that pleaded silently to let him go down there and meet her. Tip scowled back at him. Her scowl had no effect on his pout. And then his pout stretched into a toothy grin as he whispered, _"Pllleeeassse?"_ He batted his eyes (something he must've picked up from TV in the city), but seeing as he had no eyelashes, the flattering affect was lost.

"Maybe later, but not yet," said the babysitter, and she descended the stairs. Through the living room and down the hall, to the kitchen.

She fished a handful of lemon sandwich cookies out of the cookie jar, a fat ceramic calico that always seemed cute until you had to remove the head-lid to get your snack. Whoever designed it must not have put much thought into it, or else had an awful sense of humor. It had been a housewarming gift Oh had picked up somewhere, and for some reason they were actually using it, beheading lid aside.

Tip was turning around, popping one entire cookie in her mouth, when she was faced with Oh. She startled and almost spat out the tart treat. She would have snapped at him for passing through the living room in plain sight had she not remembered there was a rickety unfavorable staircase that lead to the laundry room in the back.

Oh smirked, knowing he had given her a spook and alarmed her in more than one way. He crossed his ropy arms over himself and rocked back on his stumpy legs. "Girly girl is in the out," he twittered matter-of-factly as Tip tried to hurriedly chew her mouthful of cookie. "Pig cat saw her, and she saw Pig, and she followed Pig out the cat flapper."

Tip wanted to snap at him, " _And you didn't stop her?"_ She might have snapped something else too, if she didn't have a dry mouthful of lemon-flavored mush.

The handful of cookies meant for Sasha was abandoned on the kitchen counter as Tip dashed from the kitchen and to the laundry room. Sure enough, the back door was open.

Not counting Oh, Tip was home alone. Her mother was at work, but Tip wasn't about to tell a wild-eyed stranger at the door that. She'd hadn't been given a chance to say no before he'd left her in charge of his little angel so he could race to a county over to where his wife was in labor at the hospital – and he'd said something about not having the booster seat – and Sasha is really a little angel – and she wouldn't be any trouble at all.

Well, Sasha was trouble. Trouble for Tip. She'd never been in charge of any living thing besides Pig and a $3 betta fish she'd failed miserably with. The first thing that came to mind was how deep of trouble she'd be in if Sasha got those nice new pink clothes muddy.

Tip looked both ways out the back door. No sign of Sasha.

She scanned the evergreen woods that climbed the slope behind the house. No Sasha.

So Tip ran counter-clockwise around the house, calling her name, only to find the little girl crouched at the last corner, closest to the back door. The one Tip should have rounded first. She groaned inwardly as she approached the pink marshmallow squatting beside the untamed blackberry bushes growing against the house.

As she neared, Tip saw the preschooler picking carefully at the thorny vines. "You shouldn't touch that," Tip warned. "You'll get poked, and then I might – I'unno – get sued or something."

Sasha glanced up at Tip, and Tip realized she was pointing into the brambles now.

Tip crouched down, hunching over to see from Sasha's level. It was dim outside, being cloudy and drizzly, and so extra shadowy in the labyrinth of thorns, but Tip made out a sort of tunnel running along the ground, the dirt in the tunnel worn from traffic. The brambles funneled up to a busted ground-level window. Pig glared out from it with his amber eyes locked on Sasha, his ears flattened down.

Pig had met little kids before. They had a tendency to pull his curly pug tail a little too straight. Oh had done it too for a while until he'd learned his lesson, which Pig taught with his claws.

The calico tom hissed now in warning when Sasha leaned forward, as if she were about to actually try crawling through that little prickly tunnel.

"Nice job, Pig," Tip congratulated. "You discovered we have a basement. Keep up the good work." She saluted the cat, and pulled Sasha up by the arm to tow her away.

* * *

Alright, I know one really cares probably maybe but I finally got _Smek for President_ in the mail the other day and read it within 12 hours and _whowie_ I was dying with joy the entire time. Good stuff maannn good stuff. I had some indecent thoughts on character design but they were humorous indecent thoughts because I'm uber mature. I rambled on tumblr. I showed my near-blind Dad. I read to my older sister at 3am and put her to sleep. I photoshopped a couple pictures. Spammed the friend who bought me the book for my 23rd birthday last month and then some others who also had no idea what I was going on about. I cried to another sister. I cried to my cat. Then I opened the book and started reading it all again. What's a life?

 _~Ny_


	2. Crustacean Amble

_Ohhh_ I think I jinxed myself. LOL Life gets in the way of things all right! For instance, trying to find my stolen car (courtesy of everyone's good friend _methamphetamine_ ) has gotten in the way of my work, chores, and updating this fic! :D

Also, I am absolutely basing this kid off a mixture of the monstrosities I have had the misfortune to know…

~Ny

* * *

 **2\. Crustacean Amble**

"But, _kitty!"_ the tiny girl cried out, planting her feet.

They were the first words Tip heard her say, and although they surprised her somewhat, she was wise enough to know what came after mulish foot-planting. Sasha's spindly legs gave out, and Tip had to hold up her weight by one dainty arm until she could quickly wrap both of hers around the marshmallow girl and carry her back inside like a big squirming bag of groceries.

This time, Tip was sure to lock the back door too. "You be good, or you're not getting any cookies," she warned.

But Sasha didn't seem to care about cookies. Maybe she knew they were lemon-flavored or an off-brand, because she whined and dove for the cat flap.

"Come on," urged Tip, trying to pull her back to the living room. "Kitty doesn't like people," she lied. Pig liked people well enough. It was the tiny people Pig wasn't so fond of, and Tip approved of his reasoning. Or, well, what she _assumed_ was his reasoning. It didn't take a rocket scientist.

Once she had Sasha on the couch, she freed her of that padded marshmallow coat and hung it on the hooks by the front door, careful to only be gone a moment and get right back to watching tiny person. Sasha was spaced out again quickly, hypnotized by cartoon mermaids.

Tip was at a loss for exactly what she was supposed to do while babysitting. She didn't have a stack of magazines that needed reading, boyfriends that needed calling, or girlfriends to gossip with, or a herd of party animals to invite in, or any other stereotypical babysitter things to do.

So she sat quietly at the far end of the sofa against the armrest, resting her cheek on her palm. "So you like mermaids?" she said after a minute, and Sasha just nodded without a word or even peeking her way. In her peripheral vision, Tip could see a stumpy purple alien poke his head around the doorway. "I've met a mermaid."

Sasha's head whipped around now, and her scrutinizing blue eyes scanned Tip for any indication she was lying. _"Really?"_

"Mm-hm," Tip said lazily, and she was a little smug that she finally had the kid's attention. "Well, really more like a mer _guy."_

"A merman?" Sasha's eyes got wider. "That's gotta be even rarer-er! In the lake?"

"No," said Tip quickly, before Sasha could make a break for the cat-flap. "I was going across the ocean, and he _disappeared,"_ she said strongly enough for Oh to get the hint and duck back around the doorframe, "underwater for so long I thought he drowned."

Sasha giggled. _"Dummy._ Merpeople can't drown."

"Neither can Boov!" called Oh irritably, and added in more of a mutter to himself, _"Usually."_

If he had been right there, he probably would've gotten a good bop from Tip. But as it were, he was safely out of sight and out of reach, and her heated glare his direction fell on the wall instead.

Sasha was getting up. "Who's that?" she wondered, sidetracked from mermaids again.

"My brother," Tip lied quickly. "He's a gross nerd – you'll get cooties if you go near him." She was satisfied by the Boovish snort out in the hall.

Sasha forgot about him long enough to remember about cookies a couple minutes later. When Tip went to retrieve them, she found it fishy that Oh was nowhere to be seen. Not on the ground floor spying, at least. But it _was_ a two-story house, and not too large or with too many hiding places, so she hoped he'd gone back upstairs the back way. She hoped he wasn't plotting a scheme to get back at her or feeling too sore.

From that point on, Tip was distracted from the movie and her babysitting duties by festering guilt – but Sasha remedied that before long. Tip showed her to the bathroom halfway through the movie, and then after a suspiciously long time in there, had to stop her from overflowing the toilet with soap. Sasha had felt it necessary to "wash" the toilet with shampoo for some reason. _Kids._

The little girl was starting to loosen up. She was looking around more, getting restless and losing focus on the cartoon. Tip had taken up interest in her phone, settling into the role of teen babysitter quite well now, if she did say so herself. She kept tabs on Sasha, though, glancing up every few moments to see her walking around the room, eyeing the bookshelf, a cabinet of decorative china, and photos on the wall.

"Is this you, big kid?" Sasha piped up suddenly, pointing to a photo hung just out of her reach.

Even from across the room, Tip knew which it was. She remembered the photo of her in a line with three other kids on stage, all performing the same moves in unison. "The one and only," she answered.

"You're a ballerina?"

"Yup."

Sasha's eyes were big with wonder again. The tiny blonde preschooler was bouncing on her toes as she bounded up to Tip. "Prove it! Do the thing!"

"The thing?"

"You know – the thing!" The kid reached over her head and made a gawky figure-4 with her legs, and Tip understood what thing she meant.

"So you wanna know how I earned the title _Tip,_ do ya?" she laughed smugly.

Nevertheless, Tip gave a brief demonstration, and Sasha clapped and tried it again herself. Of course, she couldn't stand on her tiptoes quite like Tip, and fell back on her rear.

"That's almost as cool as being a _princess,"_ said the little kid, as if daring Tip to say she were royalty. She sat there, gazing up at what might as well have been a goddess. She may have lied about meeting a merman, but Sasha was sure her babysitter wasn't lying about being a ballerina – there was even a photo on the wall of her in a tutu to prove it.

"I'll take that as a compliment." Tip smiled as she came back down on her heels and rested her hands on her hips. "So what can _you_ do?" she challenged.

"Uhh…" Sasha glanced towards the big flat-screen television and the grainy animation. At the sight of Sebastian, a light bulb seemed to go on over her head. "This!" she announced proudly, leaning back on her palms and lifting her rear off the floor. She crab-walked a few feet before her arms and legs got too tired and she rested on her butt again.

"Pretty neat," Tip said with a thoughtful nod, and she dropped down into the same unnatural stance. "But everyone can crab-walk." She shuffled awkwardly sideways, and a smile was starting to stretch across her face when she spied a blue one watching her from between skeletal ribs of the staircase railing.

Oh looked like a forlorn prisoner as Tip sat up out of the awkward position. She caught his eye briefly, tilting her head in question at him. The Boov's stare flicked to Sasha, and then he retreated fully upstairs and out of sight. Tip forced herself to look away from the stairwell and got to her feet.

"Hey, I need to use the bathroom," she lied. "You just stay here, and I'll make you some canned raviolis when I get back? You like those?" _Of course she does,_ Tip told herself. _What kid doesn't?_

Sasha made a noisy noise, slurping loudly as she licked her lips, and nodded her head vigorously, her messy golden locks bouncing. She stayed put on the rug, eyes glued to the television once more.

Tip glanced up the stairs as she passed them on the way into the hall.

Straight down the hall, past the kitchen and the bathroom, was the back room, the laundry room. And in the laundry room was the staircase no one used unless they were doing laundry. Same as the other, it reached up to about the dead-center of the house, and was right across the hall from the main stairway.

Tip reached it just as the blue Boov was halfway down the backroom flight of stairs. He blanched lavender when he saw her and then quickly returned to purple, which he had to consciously hold steady and not without difficulty.

"What is your deal?" Tip asked in exasperation, gesturing at him. "You've been acting all funny."

"It is not very funny," he muttered, turning around to shuffle back upstairs. "Rudeness is not humorous."

"When was I—?"

"You called me gross," he huffed at the top of the steps, and stalked off for his own room.

"I did not!" Tip defended.

"Yes you did too!" Oh snapped back at her, and Tip recoiled in surprise. "I am not gross and I does not have the coots."

"Okay, maybe I did say that, but I didn't mean it – you know that," argued the girl still pursuing the Boov. "You're not…gross at all," she added, right as she reached for his tacky shoulder to turn him around. She knew how _sincere_ she must have sounded with hesitation like that, and fumbled to make up for it. "Humans are pretty gross too – I mean our sweat stinks even to ourselves, and—"

"You are sticking feet in your mouth." Oh glanced down to them. "And you are having only two to stand on, so maybes you should be watching your words and leaving me alone like you has been _all day."_

"Oh, she's only been here about an hour."

"And before that?" he questioned.

Tip opened her mouth to prove him wrong, but realized…he was right. Apart from a " _Yo,"_ over a late-morning breakfast, which she'd barely had an hour or so before Sasha showed up on her doorstep, she really hadn't seen much of Oh. After breakfast, she'd jumped on her laptop and checked her email, and that was about it until Sasha came around.

"We were supposed to exp— _explore_ the lake today," Oh fussed. "And you said we'd do that yesterday, and the day before too. I had even modified a bubble lift into a submarines for you." He started to walk past her, back for the stairs again, probably with the intent to hang out in the garage. "But if Gratuity does not want to come with me, she only needs to say so. Not string along friends. I will go myself—"

"Oh, _no,"_ snapped Tip, stamping down her foot and catching him by the arm. She frowned down at him and he frowned back. _"Later,"_ she said through gritted teeth. "I want to go – I do – just not right now. I'm babysitting. I can't just leave her alone here – that's now how it works."

"Then let me go into the down and join you and the girly girl," he begged, and his forced-purple broke away to blue for a moment when Tip shook her head in refusal.

"You know why you can't. She'll squeal. Probably even literally." She smiled weakly and gave her short violet friend a tender shove. "I mean, you're just so squishable and lovable. I have to keep you to myself." Her efforts to cheer him weren't as effective as she'd hoped, but it clearly did something.

Oh frowned down away from her with a puff. "All the right," he agreed grudgingly. "I will wait to explore the lake until you are ready to come with. And laters, you will show me about this crustacean ambling you were doing down there."

"The whatnow?" She cocked an eyebrow at him.

"You were ons your back, but also not?"

 _"Oh,_ right."

They stared at each other for another brief moment, both expecting the other to go on. Oftentimes, Oh wasn't sure if his name was being called or not. Now was one of those times. He glanced around in the silence and was the first to break it, _"Yes?"_

Tip shook her head. "Uh, it's nothing. Yeah, yeah, I'll show you all about it. Just don't—"

Behind them, they heard the protest of the creaky fourth step. Their eyes went wide at once, and before Oh could move any of his six stumpy legs, Tip had shoved him into the unlit upstairs bathroom and shut the door behind him. She heard him whimper into the dark inside just as the tiny girl reached the top step and peeked into the upstairs hallway.


	3. Bruising

I got my car back ;A; and to celebrate its sorry return to me, have a chapter.

Also, I totally appreciate reviews n all that. ;v; Y'all are sweethearts! I'm a bashful shy baby, and I don't know the code of conduct here, so if replying is the norm here well…I'm sorry I'm a nervous quiet newb. OTL

Enjoy the chapter!

~Ny

* * *

 **3\. Bruising**

As promised, Tip dug out a can of raviolis from the kitchen pantry, which was this sort of walk-in broom closet, and heated a bowl of the slop for her miniature guest. She shuffled quickly around the kitchen, keeping a close eye on the kid seated at the table.

After Sasha had climbed the stairs and complained she was hungry, she'd tried get past Tip to snoop around. It was a good thing raviolis were so tempting, though, because she'd nearly peeped through the open door that let into Oh's room when Tip reminded her.

 _That_ room was practically a workshop. Oh's niche in the house was full of disassembled alien wares of questionable safety and leafy succulent plants in bizarre shapes and colors. Just one glance inside would be all it took to know something _weird_ was up here, surely even for someone as young as Sasha. And everyone knows, kids say the darndest things.

Paranoid now, Tip was sure to shut Oh's door as soon as she'd gotten Sasha to go back downstairs.

Sasha took her lunch back to the living room and requested a new movie. She sat harmlessly on the floor with her little legs stretched out under the coffee table, tiny sneakered feet tapping together as she was sucked into _101 Dalmatians._

That didn't last long, though.

The kid was sort of a slow eater, and halfway through her bowl of saucy pasta, she'd zoned out, spoon in hand – and Tip wasn't sure exactly when or how it happened, but Sasha spilled it on herself. She hardly noticed the pillow ravioli lumps sliding down her shirt. Tip was back on her phone, starting to space out too, when she realized it. It took a moment to register before she leapt up with a hissed swear and muttered, _"Pardonmylanguage_ – don't repeat that."

"That's a cuss?" wondered Sasha. "Daddy says worse, like—"

Tip cut her off, "Well, it is in my house." And she grimaced slightly as she plopped spilled raviolis back into the bowl. "I, uh…think you're done with that," she mumbled.

She picked Sasha up by the armpits to bring her to her feet, and shooed her to the bathroom to clean her up. A minute later, Sasha had one of the Tuccis' soft new white towels wrapped around her, and she was watching Tip hurriedly rinse her glittery pink kitten shirt in the sink.

"Stay right here," Tip ordered, and dashed out of the bathroom.

She threw a handful of miscellaneous laundry into the washer plus Sasha's soiled shirt, and thumped up the steps to her mother's room. Maybe it was a little selfish of her, but Tip didn't even _think_ of offering one of her own shirts. No – she went straight to her mother's dresser to dig through her drawer of plain dime-a-dozen blouses. Things had been moved around since the big move, and it took Tip a minute longer than she would have liked to find the stash.

She thumped back down the living room stairs and swung herself into the hall, taking the usual but _wrong_ path to the bathroom. She was shaking out the button-up, saying, "Alright, I found you something clean to w—where are you?"

There was no Sasha to be seen. The sink was running, however, and Colgate was smeared across the counter, a toothpaste trail practically leading out the door, where Sasha must have tried wiping the minty goo off her hand.

Blouse balled up in her fist, Tip bolted for the back door.

One of Sasha's sneakers lay just this side of the cat flap. She must have decided she didn't want mismatched feet, because the other was left on the steps.

Tip knew where the rascal must have scampered off to. She stormed around the side of the house, coming around the nearest corner, and stopped dead in her tracks. Where the little girl should have been, she was not.

A wave of panic swept through her. The spring rains were off and on all day, almost like God was up there watering random spots of the valley as if it were a garden, and Tip could make out a hazy veil of a downpour making its way swiftly along the mountainside, heading right for her soggy patch of acreage.

Tip circled the house like before, shouting for Sasha and looking this way and that, and stopped below Oh's window. His light was on.

"Hey!" she hollered, and waited. _"HEY!"_ Still no response. She ripped up some grass and a clod of dirt with it and chucked it at Oh's window. It missed by about a foot, but she never said she had perfect aim. She was ready to throw another when Oh appeared. He didn't seem to want to open up until she tossed down the clod.

"Whatfor do you want?" he asked flatly, resting his oversized cheek on his undersized palm.

"Have you seen where Sasha went?"

"No," he said, now picking at something of interest on the windowsill. Probably chipping paint. Judging by the way he sucked it off his finger, Tip guessed she was right. "Maybe if you would let me to join you in the watching, she would not be missing. Again."

Tip shook her head and huffed. "You're no help," she grumbled, and turned to leave.

"Try the woods," Oh suggested, pulling the round multi-function gadget from his belly pouch. "From up here, I can see something pale out there." As Tip skulked away for the dark evergreen wall, he used a viewing enhancement feature for a spyglass, and nodded to himself. "She is half clothed and shoeless. Gratuity is doing a _swell_ job of this sitting of infant on her own."

Tip's face was hot. She wanted to snap at Oh for rubbing it in, but broke into a run instead across the saturated field.

An acre away and up the slope, she reached the wall of the forest. She could definitely hear twigs snapping as someone or some _thing_ clambered around in there with zero stealth. Through the steady patter of dripping leaves, she could also hear faint calls of, _"Heeere, kitty, kitty."_

 _"SASHA!"_ Tip shouted, and it was impossible not to let some of her frustration give a sharp edge to her voice. "Sasha, get over here!" She really felt like she was scolding a bad puppy now. She had a feeling this wasn't how babysitting kids was supposed to feel, and felt a little guilty about it. That feeling would be long gone in the next couple moments.

The rustling stopped. Then it started again, getting louder as the tiny person made her way back through the pine litter and leaves and shrubs and sticks towards Tip. She stretched up enough for Tip to see her over a huge distant mossy log, and then she scrambled over it and scampered along the border of the woods to Tip.

Eyes wide with horror, Tip ran her fingers through her own hair as she took in the mess of a girl before her. Sasha had pine needles in her hair – but that was the least of it – because her hair was also only _half_ golden now, as the rest was brown with mud, which was also smeared over her cheek and chin. It was obvious she'd tripped somewhere in the sloppy field between the house and woods. And her white corduroys? Tip didn't want to think about it.

"I'm dead," she whispered to herself, and shook it off as Sasha reached her. Tip tried to wipe off the grimace when she noticed somewhere along the line, the little girl had ditched her socks too.

Tip laughed weakly. "Bubble bath!" she said. "Do you like bubble baths? Of course you like bubble baths. All kids like bubble baths." And she shooed Sasha along towards the house, and then had to catch her so she wouldn't chase a frog, and then had to carry her the rest of the way to the house.

By the time she'd the back steps, Tip swore she looked like she had fallen in the mud too. She ran the kid a bath, a little too shocked for words, and added the dirty trousers to the wash.

She remembered about Sasha's dad mentioning he left his number on a note in her coat pocket, and regretted giving him a call to update…so she didn't. Or at least, she chickened out of the whole truth when she did give him a ring, only mentioning the pasta incident, which he only chuckled about. When he asked to speak with her mom, she lied and said she was busy with Sasha and they had a corded home phone. He had to get back to "being there" for his wife anyhow.

Tip wasn't sure if the phone call had made her feel better or worse.

She dared to leave the bathroom unguarded, _dared_ to leave that sneaky blonde weasel alone, for a moment while she fetched a can of Shooga from the fridge. She took a slurp as she went back to watching from the kitchen door. It was another sip or two before she decided she wasn't really in the mood for soda, and could afford to leave the twerp alone for a moment.

Tip tip-toed back upstairs, stepping over the fourth-from-the-top step, and paced as quietly as she could down the hallway.

Before she invited herself in, she knocked lightly on Oh's door, only loud enough for him to hear and hopefully nowhere near loud enough for Sasha. "Hey, Oh," she greeted as she leaned in, before realizing she was speaking to an empty room. The lamp was on over his drawing desk, which was cluttered with comic strips, but he wasn't there, so she looked to the other corner, to a sort of beanbag chair shaped something like a urinal that served as a Boovish bed, but he wasn't tucked away there either.

She grimaced, suspicious he was up to something daring that could blow his cover.

 **++x++**

Little did she know, Oh was downstairs in the pantry. He'd been rummaging through the recycle bin, idly sipping from a quart of motor oil, when he heard Tip return from her search. He chose to hide, reluctant to bear the sting of anymore words she might have to say if she caught him downstairs.

Through the crack in the pantry door, he could just barely see her leaning against the living room doorframe, across the hall from the kitchen. She was busy speaking on the telephone with a stranger for a while, unwittingly blocking his escape.

By the time Oh had heard her crack open a can of pop in the kitchen, he'd retreated to the back wall, hidden in a niche between the water heater and shelving just in case she came in for something.

Once Oh heard Tip's faint footsteps leave, he sighed and slouched in the corner, trying to ignore what he desperately hoped was not a spider crawling over his brow. Finishing off the remaining drops of motor oil, he chomped off a bite of the bottle as if it were merely a strip of beef jerky and munched pensively.

There were few things he disliked – being labeled a fugitive and being chased by the authorities to name a couple – and to add to that list, he had hiding from visitors. He especially disliked it when he believed it would be harmless. This one was such small kid, and if the information Tip dished out at him during her pubescent rants were true, then no one really _believed_ little kids, much less the very young ones. So _really._ How much harm could come from socializing with that little pink ape?

The spiders scuttling around were starting to make Oh's skin crawl about now, leaving him marbled with unnerved yellow streaks. Ignoring them was proving impossible, so he wiped a hand across his face, hoping he wouldn't feel a thousand tiny arachnid legs between his fingers.

But there were no spiders squashed under his palm – and yet the feeling persisted. He wiped both hands over his entire head like squirrel grooming itself and scanned them in the dim light leaking in through the edges of the pantry door. There wasn't so much as a cobweb.

It took him another moment to feel the phantom herd of spiders shuffle again, and this time he realized they definitely weren't spiders at all. He felt it all over his clammy amphibious skin, everywhere his blue vest didn't cover: _a breeze._ It was chilly and musty, not like the fresh air that might blow through the house from the cat-flapper or window. His trunks unfurled and probed the air, half sniffing, half feeling, as he used them like dowsing rods to locate the source.

He felt it seeping from a crack in the wooden floor. Midway along one board, at the foot of the built-in shelving, was a groove, just enough for him to hook his blunt fingers into.

The board gave way slightly, and with a firm tug, it popped open an _entire door_ – a door set into in the _floor,_ of all places. The secret door flung back before Oh could catch it, snapping back against its own hinges and bouncing there, trembling vertically in its own dust cloud.

He crossed his fingers, hoping that the noise hadn't alerted Tip that he was downstairs – or worse, caught tiny Sasha's attention. Tip would be even angrier with him if that were the case. He feared either one of them opening up the pantry for a look-see, and almost cowered in the back corner again.

Oh didn't know what he hoped to find by snooping, because there was nothing terribly fascinating about the discovery. It was just a folded wooden ladder in an odd cabinet in the floor that stretched across the pantry walkway from one shelf to the other, blocking his way out. Aside from the ladder, there were signs of rodent traffic in the cabinet, but that was almost to be expected.

What Oh did next, he would promptly regret.

With intent to inspect the ladder, he stepped onto the platform it was mounted to. Putting weight on just a couple front feet was all it took for the platform to give way like a trapdoor. Oh flailed out his arms and tried to throw himself backwards – but it was too late. He tumbled through the dark chasm with a garbled holler, and smacked face-first onto the cement cellar floor.

 _"Owpain,"_ he mumbled as he picked himself up. He touched his scuffed face gingerly and winced at a minor abrasion.

Sitting miserably with his legs splayed around him, Oh peered up through the rectangular gap. It was easily ten feet above him, but the hinged platform the folded ladder rested on was a taunting two feet out of reach.

His eyes adjusted to the dark quickly, pupils dilating. Boov didn't have big eyes for nothing – they _were_ sea creatures not long ago, built for deep diving.

Natural grey light glowed from a smashed window placed high on one wall, spreading its gloom across a hunter's decaying trophy collection and dozens of cardboard boxes that had fallen apart at the seams and looked to be dissolving now. Flickers of motion along the walls hinted at a rat infestation as Oh crept up to the off-center pyramid of boxes, behind which hid a jukebox, a rustic and outdated stereo system, and a collection of retired record players.

When Oh found records in the first box he opened, he was tempted to take a nibble, but controlled himself.

To give himself a little more light, he held his multi-purpose ring in his mouth like a door knocker to illuminate the record players as he set about tinkering. If Tip was so adamant against him meeting the tot, and that ladder twenty-something terrible inches out of reach, he rationalized he might as well save his cries for help until Mimom returned and prepared dinner. Though they weren't on the best of terms, he was sure _she_ would rescue him from this stuffy forgotten pit.

Deep blue bloomed over Oh's skin like a bruise while he worked and dwelled.

Tip had sure been acting like he _belonged_ down here lately. Putting off their plans in favor of mingling with her own kind, or sleeping in late on the weekend days when he thought they might finally have a chance to explore the lake. Mimom had warned him to expect the unexpected with her because _"she's a growing girl,"_ but he had honestly hoped for more than a couple adventures and play-dates before their friendship petered out. Tip was his first love, in a platonic sort of way, and he didn't want to let that go and just _move on._

And yet here he was feeling like a blueberry because she didn't seem to feel the same.

A thud behind him was quickly followed up by the reverberating purr of Pig cat rubbing a furry flank against Oh. "At the least _you_ still enjoy accompanying me," Oh said around the glowing ring between his lips as he gave Pig a stroke.

The obese feline soon settled atop Oh's head to watch him patch together a Frankenstein of a record player.

* * *

aha did I say 3 chapters? I meant 4. I totally meant 4. ahahaha *fishflops past the finish line*

I'll get that up sometime this week for sure.

~Ny


	4. Jack-Oh-Lantern Man

Last chapter! AHH!

 _~Ny_

* * *

 **4\. Jack-Oh-Lantern Man**

After leaving her half-empty can of soda on a purple peanut-shaped shelf by the door for Oh to find, Tip had gathered _more_ clothes for Sasha, and changed into a fresh tank top and jeans too while she was at it.

She breathed a sigh of relief to find Sasha was still in the bath, and much cleaner than she had been when she went in. While Tip set to work cleaning up the toothpaste mess from earlier, she had a hard time ignoring the kid working up the gall to flick soap suds at her. And when Sasha _did_ flick it good enough to reach Tip across the bathroom, it was even harder not to snap at her.

"Your dad says you take afternoon naps," Tip said as she tied the strings of her green shorts that Sasha now wore. "Are you ready for a nap?"

Sasha shook her head no. Of course.

"Well I am _so_ ready for a nap," lied Tip. "Naps are cool. Princesses get to take naps all the time."

It was as if Tip had said a magic spell. Nap time was suddenly interesting now – except Sasha expressed it by folding her hands under her head and faking a snore, though she was still standing in the bathroom with Tip. A feeble laugh escaped Tip, and the preschooler broke into a fit of giggles.

With newfound energy, Sasha skipped and leapt and thumped her way to the living room, and threw herself down on the couch in front of the TV. She knew a routine Tip was unfamiliar with, and actually hit the power button on the remote before Tip could even consider it. It seemed a little weird to Tip, because in this new place, what with its maddening quietness and all, sleeping without the TV or any other background noise was a struggle.

But she sure wasn't about to complain about Sasha taking some lead here as she tossed a throw pillow to the kid and left to fetch a blanket. When she got back, Sasha was still pretending to sleep, minus the playful snoring. Or maybe she was playing dead. Tip watched from the lower steps as the little girl's face gradually relaxed, and soon it was unmistakable that she was honestly asleep.

Only once she was positive that Sasha was out cold did Tip dare to tip-toe out the front door. She opened and closed the squeaky door as silently as she could, and hugged herself against the chill as she cut across the yard to the garage.

She really expected to find Oh hiding out there, probably sulking in Slushious, but she was let down.

"Oh?" she asked the vacant garage. She peeked through the car windows, and even bent over to look _under_ the car. She checked the loft above where the garage door retracted, where he kept a few alien plants that favored car exhaust and secreted useful or tasty (to him) oils.

She shouted his name again on the way out, but there was no reply.

Wearing a scowl now, Tip's fists were balled at her sides as she crossed the squishy grassy yard, down the gravel driveway, and across the road.

On the other side, the ground dipped steeply towards the lake, flattened out halfway down, and then finally sloped away to the water. On the level ground, shrubs and trees laden with huge clumps of mistletoe grew, with brambles running rampant in the spaces between them. There were a few paths to the water, cut by the local fauna, but Tip doubted Oh would have passed through the minefield of thorns.

He always could have flown _over_ them, though.

Tip scanned the shore for anything out of place, and scanned the water for anything that might be mistaken for a lake monster.

"This isn't cute, Oh!" she said loudly, but her stumpy purple friend did not make an appearance. She was _really_ frowning now. But no matter how much she glared at the lake, she knew it wouldn't make him breach. If he wasn't upstairs and he wasn't in the garage, then taking a swim as the only explanation she could think of, unless he'd invented an invisibility device. Which she wouldn't put it past him to.

On the way back to the house, Tip was sure to rinse off some of the mud from her sneakers with a shallow puddle. She stomped in it for good measure.

She had every intent to go straight upstairs to check Oh's closet for him, but as she turned the door handle, she realized…she couldn't. Because it was locked. _"Hah-hah,_ Oh!" she carped sourly. "Open up!"

The giggle on the other side practically made her blood run cold. Her eyes popped wide and she tried turning the doorknob with more determination, confirming again that it was _definitely_ locked. _"Why you little—!"_ flew out of her mouth upon the realization.

Sasha giggled again inside, and Tip heard the thumps of her feet as she dashed away.

Tip would have crawled through the nearest window, but old habits die hard and her mom had been in the habit of keeping the windows locked back in the city. That hadn't certainly changed in the past two weeks since moving here.

So she bolted, fast as she could, for the back door. She slipped in the soggy earth as she rounded the corner too fast, counted herself lucky that only her palms got dirty from catching herself, and leapt from the bottom to the top step in a single bound.

She slammed into the door so hard the wood creaked, but her fears were realized as she rattled the knob.

Through flimsy windowpane and nicotine-stained blinds, she could see that grinning weasel of a child looking back at her before scampering on all fours up the stairs. "Sasha—SASHA! _NO!"_ Tip shouted, shaking the door in a futile attempt to maybe knock something loose.

"Princesses don't act like this!" Tip warned, and the little girl gave her one last grin before disappearing out of sight.

Tip jumped down off the steps and eyeballed the second-story window high above her. She could fetch Slushious and lift herself to Oh's window – he probably hadn't locked it after leaning out earlier – but no, the car key was _inside_ the house. She bounced on her heels as she thought.

In the end, Tip found herself racing around the house trying every window she could reach. She dreaded what it meant when she heard water gushing in the upstairs bathroom, and her mother's bedroom light was on now when it hadn't been before.

Tip was cringing up at her mom's window, about ready to run to the garage to try climbing on the roof and making a leap of faith for her own unlocked bedroom window when her eyes slid down the mossy brown wall of the farmhouse, landing on the brambles.

The broken window came to mind, but that wasn't what had drawn her attention. If she didn't know any better, she'd say there was _music_ trickling from that sticker bush.

Knowing better or not, she squatted down and turned an ear toward it.

She blinked and furrowed her brow, stupefied.

"Super," Tip muttered to herself. "My first time babysitting, and the kid's locked herself in a haunted house."

But a window was a window, even if it was pretty busted and sharp and looked like a hungry mouth full of fangs, and protected by a wall of thorns too.

Undeterred, Tip ran back to the garage, but not to climb the roof as previously planned. When she returned to the blackberry bush, she had a crowbar, a flashlight, and a pair of scissors she hoped were strong enough to hold up to the job ahead.

She snipped and clipped and pricked herself, occasionally cringing and sucking on a new bleeding poke while she shoved loose vines aside with the crowbar. It took several minutes of careful pruning before she'd cut herself a path to the window, and another several minutes before she had a space big enough to crouch down in.

Tip bit her lip and prayed she wouldn't tick off a venomous spider as she reached in to find a latch to push the window open so she wouldn't have to squirm though the glass teeth.

The music was louder now, and she paused to listen to it. It was some symphony she didn't recognize, with a whole orchestra with a piano and violins and the whole eerie shebang. The audio quality was poor and crackly. If anything, it was a repellent, as if warning her that she should find another way in.

But _forget_ that – she was getting in one way or another, and if she could do so without breaking a window and getting in deep trouble with her mom, then she would. Even if it meant fighting a poltergeist or cursing the next five generations of Tuccis or whatever.

Tip flicked on the flashlight and shined it around inside. The first thing to meet her curious stare was a moldy grizzly bear, lips pealed back over real bone jaws, his hide afflicted with mange and holes like some zombie bear and it scared the daylights right out of Tip. She choked on a gasp before realizing it was just a very old taxidermy mount, one of several rotting pieces forgotten in the cellar.

Deciding it was safe enough below, Tip squeezed in through the window feet first, thankful for an antique dining table directly below the window. She could hear soft rustling and squeaking all around the room, and didn't want to think of what that meant.

Tip shined the light some more, and spotted a drop-down staircase. She made a beeline for it, eager to get out of this creepy cellar and away from its haunting symphony. She picked her way over a mess of scattered newspapers on the floor and unfolded the ladder, her heartbeat urging her to _get out now._

Partway up the squeaky steps, she thought it odd a door above was already open. As she poked her head up and looked around the little room, she discovered she was in her pantry. With ghosts and spooky trophies on the brain, Tip suddenly wasn't sure if she ever wanted to go in her pantry again – not without nailing this door shut, and maybe dousing it in holy water.

As she was climbing out, though, she spied a half-eaten bottle of motor oil she swore wasn't there earlier when she'd grabbed that can of ravioli for Sasha. _Ghosts_ didn't drink oil or eat plastic.

Tip stepped down a couple rungs and surveyed the cellar a little more. This time she hoped she _wasn't_ alone as she searched the dank room for a Boov. And off along one wall, she did find him. Lulled to sleep by what Tip would consider one racket of an orchestra, he looked to be napping upright on a floral loveseat leaking stuffing. Pig was seated on the cushion beside him, guarding him against pesky rodents.

The cat's eyes glinted back at Tip, and she gave him a tiny goodbye wave as she continued back into the pantry.

Tip mindfully left the flashlight on the steps and the trapdoor open for Oh, just the way she'd found it, when she left to find the blonde fiend wreaking havoc in her house.

She did a circuit, starting from the kitchen, through the living room, and up the stairs.

Tip shut the drawers of her mother's dresser and flicked off the light, then dashed back down the hall. Oh's door was open, his light on now, and the can she'd left for him was empty and on the hallway floor. Except for running water in the bathroom, the house was dreadfully silent. Sasha must not have thought much of Tip's organization skills, but Tip abandoned her room just as she'd found it – completely ransacked – and thumped down the laundry room stairs.

"Sasha!" she called out. "Do you want me to tell your dad about this?" The threat was a futile one, because she obviously didn't care, considering she didn't come out of hiding.

Tip had circled back to the living room when there was sudden a blood-curdling squeal – like something, somewhere in the house, was being eaten alive.

Tip raced for the source, whipped herself into the kitchen, and nearly tripped over the little girl plowing into her legs at the pantry doorway. "BOOGIEMAN!" she screeched, and Tip wished she had earplugs as she toted Sasha out of the kitchen.

She hadn't even made it to the livingroom with the kid when the front door opened and in walked her mother. She blinked down at her daughter carrying the flailing tiny stranger under one arm. _"Tiiip,"_ she said carefully, "what is this? _Who_ is this?"

Sasha had quit howling long enough to gawp at the new comer, but then she was right back to crying and thrashing. "Boogieman!" she said insistently.

"There is no boogieman!" Tip argued.

 _"Boogieman?"_ echoed Lucy.

"In basement!" the little girl squealed as Tip gave up and set her down. She pawed at her own tears as Lucy knelt down to sooth the terrified red-faced snotty preschooler. "T-t-there was a-a-a jackal-lantern man down there a-a-and—"

"Sshh, sshh, now," said Lucy, offering the kid a hug. "Grown-ups scare away boogiemen, so don't be afraid. You're alright," she went on crooning, although she still shot Tip a stare that demanded an explanation later.

Tip explained a little bit now. At least the part about being stuck with surprise babysitting – not about tracking Sasha to the forest and then getting locked out of the house. She wasn't sure if she wanted to fess up to _that._

The preteen girl was relieved of her babysitting duties as her mother took over from there, like she was supposed to at the very start. Tip saw to it that the laundry was thrown in the dryer, but otherwise called it quits.

She snuck back to the pantry afterwards, finding the cellar door was still open. She closed it quietly after her, hoping maybe it would make her mother less likely to find her, and crept down the dark steps by feel rather than sight.

"Oh?" Tip called softly into the darkness.

The record player was quietly skipping, but otherwise, there wasn't a sound.

She figured the flashlight had busted on the cement floor, because everything was pitch black until Oh withdrew his ring gadget, turning on the screen to shed a little light for Tip. At a distance, it was about as effective as a dying candle, but it was the beacon in the dark that helped her find her way to him.

She tried not to think of what might be hiding in the springy cushions as she took a seat beside him on the discarded piece of furniture.

It was silent between them, the only noise being Pig's anxious purr. He hopped off the old couch a moment later as if to give them a minute alone while he stalked rats amid the junk.

"You would not _believe_ the day I've been having," Tip told the frowning Boov, trying and failing to make light conversation. Her fake smile fell. "Oh?"

He sighed, almost glanced at her, and then finally muttered in such defeat that just about crushed her heart, "You were right."

"What?"

"She _squealed,"_ said Oh, a deep blue that made the room seem impossibly darker. "And not in the happy kinds of way. But you already knew that, hm?"

 _"Yeah,"_ Tip answered reluctantly. She quickly consoled him with, "But whatever you did to scare her, I would _love_ if you did again. Brat deserves it."

"You don't mean that," said Oh, and looked to her with a frail smile. "No more than I want to be the boogieman in the floorcloset."

"Maybe you're right. I'm just too nice," Tip sighed insincerely, and broke into a little snicker. "Well, for next Halloween, you're for sure going to be dressing up as the jack-Oh-lantern man."

"But I am not Jack…?" he started in confusion.

"It's a joke," she said. "She must've startled you, huh? Turned ya a little _yellow?"_ She raised her brow and elbowed him in jest. Although it had been full of loathing at the time, she looked back fondly at the memory of coming face-to-face with Oh in the MoPo and scaring the purple right out of that big round face of his. In the right light, he probably _would_ look like a pumpkin.

Oh didn't answer that. Instead, he wondered, "Shouldn't you be up there? Sitting on the not-baby?"

But she just turned to him with a smirk and shoved him in that weird way that the humans passed off as playful affection – and then she had him ensnared in one of her crushing hugs. Which he was also okay with for a moment, but wasn't so sure if he wanted to return it. He was a little afraid of being strung along with a friendship rope like she had been doing so much lately.

Like a noose around his neck, that friendship rope of her arms began to loosen, and Oh was quick to squeeze her back around that weird tiny human waist and he refused to let go.

"I'm sorry," Tip apologized against his cheek. "I'm sorry she screamed, and I'm sorry I've been kind of a butt lately."

She gave him a quick peck on his squishy cheek to hopefully emphasize just _how_ sorry she was. Actions certainly did seem to speak louder than words, because it turned her Boov friend fluttering shades of pink and orange. It evidently cheered him up for a moment, if nothing else.

Oh took the gesture silently like a mature big brother, but still clung to her like a little brother as she sat back. He kept his face miserably hidden against her midriff.

Tip stifled a laugh and she patted him on the head. "So are you ready for the lake or what?" she asked.

"Not yet," Oh mumbled.

It was another moment or two before he finally released his hold around her. Then he grabbed her by the hand and pulled her around the stack of boxes to show off the record player he had Jerry-rigged earlier.

When they finally made it back to the ground floor, Oh had barely managed to sneak upstairs before a knock rapped at the door. Tip was the one to answer it. She realized it was nearly sundown before she recognized the worn man at the door as Sasha's father and let him in.

Sasha ran up to him. "Daddy!"

"Shasta, sweet-pea!" greeted the man. Tip didn't dwell on it. "How was she?" he asked Lucy, hoisting his daughter up into his arms. "Not too much trouble, I hope."

"Oh, no trouble at all," said Tip's mother with a warm smile. "She's been a doll."

Tip wanted to speak up, but kept her mouth zipped tight. She was going to just back away and retreat upstairs when _Shasta_ opened her big mouth.

"There was a boogieman in the basement, daddy!" she said right off the bat, loudly.

 _"Really_ now?" gasped her father, and gave Lucy a knowing look.

Tip chose now to speak up. "Uh, that was just the cat," she explained uneasily.

"Nuh-uh!" Shasta argued with a tiny frown on her tiny face. "I saw—"

Tip wore a fake smile she hoped the adults didn't see through. "You saw him go down there, remember?"

"Y…yeah. I did…"

That Shasta was second-guessing herself now satisfied Tip, and she left it at that, creeping away back to Oh. They had some last minute preparations to tend to, and a twilight rendezvous down at the boat ramp that she did _not_ want to miss.

* * *

AAHHH I finished the thing. 8D What am I doing with my life? Not anything useful, that's for sure.

Hope you enjoyed the fic. lol

Fun fact no one cares about: Shasta's a name of a mountain near where I live. Also a brand of soda. That was two facts.

~Ny


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